


Bright as Yellow (Farmers' Market AU)

by ohnoscarlett



Series: Farmer's Market [3]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Farmer's Market AU, M/M, artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-05
Updated: 2009-05-05
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoscarlett/pseuds/ohnoscarlett
Summary: Ryan loses his job and his girlfriend dumps him on the same day.  What does he do?  Go to Brendon, of course.  (7259 words)





	Bright as Yellow (Farmers' Market AU)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[tuesdaysgone](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) on the parts that I did, and vice versa. Plus, this whole deal was conceived by [](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[kueble](http://kueble.livejournal.com/), when she drove over to my house and saw the actual Patrick's Garden Center down the road and essentially freaked out over it. Hee. This is not the same Patrick, nor Patrick's Garden Center. Please see the disclaimer.

**TITLE:** Bright as Yellow (Farmers' Market AU)  
**AUTHOR:** Cara ([](http://ohnoscarlett.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ohnoscarlett**](http://ohnoscarlett.livejournal.com/) ) and Lauren ([](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) **tuesdaysgone** )  
**RATING:** NC-17.  
**PAIRING, IF ANY:** Brendon/Ryan, mention of Ryan/her, Jon/Spencer off to the side  
**POV:** third person limited (focus on Ryan)

 **SUMMARY:** Ryan loses his job and his girlfriend dumps him on the same day. What does he do? Go to Brendon, of course. (7259 words)

Immediately following the events of [ “Dreaming in Color”.](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/7604.html#cutid1)

Contemporary with [ “Patrick’s Garden Center”](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/6234.html#cutid1) and associated fic.

[ “Patrick Has a Truck”](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/7140.html#cutid1)

[“Bittersweet Bakery”](http://manila-folder.livejournal.com/679.html)

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a work of fiction. _Obviously._

 **NOTES:** Beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[**tuesdaysgone**](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) on the parts that I did, and vice versa. Plus, this whole deal was conceived by [](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[**kueble**](http://kueble.livejournal.com/), when she drove over to my house and saw the actual Patrick's Garden Center down the road and essentially freaked out over it. Hee. This is not the same Patrick, nor Patrick's Garden Center. Please see the disclaimer.

  
  
**“Bright as Yellow”**

Brendon opened the door to his tiny apartment, took one look at Ryan, and said, "Hi!" immediately followed by, " _Ohmygod_ , what's wrong?" Ryan frowned. _He wasn't that transparent, was he?_ He followed Brendon into the apartment and sat on the ancient overstuffed couch. Brendon didn't sit. Brendon paced. Ryan stared at his hands, picking absentmindedly at paint splashes on his jeans.

"She left me," he finally blurted out. Brendon's footsteps stilled, but Ryan didn't look up. "She _dumped_ me," Ryan repeated. "And she's moving, and I can't afford that place by myself, not without a job. And I don't know what to _do_." His voice shook, and he felt a surge of self-hatred, but the words just kept pouring out. About her, about the apartment, about school, about his unfinished painting, about everything. Finally, he ran out of words.

Ryan became aware, then, of a hand pressing against his chest. "Breathe," Brendon said. Ryan obliged, drawing a shuddering breath, then another. The hand shifted to rest gently on Ryan's knee. He opened his eyes. Brendon had knelt in front of the couch and was looking up at him steadily. "You will figure it out," Brendon told him. "And you have help. You have Spencer. You have me."

Unable to break eye contact, Ryan stared down at Brendon for a moment, excruciatingly aware of the warmth of Brendon's hand seeping through the knee of his jeans. He lifted his own hand slowly to Brendon's head, long fingers threading through the dark hair. It was softer than Ryan could have imagined, silky. He licked suddenly dry lips.

Brendon's eyes flashed hot, and Ryan's slipped closed. Then he felt, for the second time that day, his wrists enclosed in a painfully strong grip. He drew in a hissing breath at the pressure.

"No," said Brendon, pinning his wrists to the couch.

"No?" Ryan whispered, eyes fluttering open. Brendon's had gone cold, flat.

"I will not be your rebound, Ryan. I _won't_." His voice was low, urgent.

Ryan opened his mouth to reply, and was stopped by Brendon's fingers across his lips. Brendon dragged his fingers slowly, deliberately down across Ryan's lower lip till Ryan stilled. "You don't know what you want right now, Ryan," Brendon whispered. "You think you do, but you don't. Take your time, but _decide_ , Ryan. And then convince me."

Ryan stood jerkily, pulled free of Brendon's grasp. Brendon followed him up, stopping him with a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Where are you going, Ryan?"

"I'm...I guess you want me to..." He motioned weakly towards the door.

"No, stay," Brendon. "My couch is your couch, and all that," he added, and his tone was suddenly back to normal Brendon, not the intense Brendon of only minutes before.

"Okay," said Ryan. _Okay_.

***

His second night on Brendon's couch, Ryan woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. The nightmares were starting again. He rubbed his forehead, staring at the living room ceiling for a few minutes. Then he got up, creeping silently across the apartment to Brendon's bedroom door. He eased it open and peeked inside. Brendon didn't stir. Ryan tiptoed across the floor and slipped under the covers. Brendon turned over but didn't wake, and Ryan fell immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Ryan woke the next morning to Brendon's alarm, and an arm slung loosely over his side. Even as he became aware of its presence, Brendon jerked awake and rolled over, silencing the alarm. Ryan didn't open his eyes, just turned onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, but before he drifted back into sleep he heard Brendon mutter, "That's not the way it works."

***

The next night, he slipped through Brendon's door as soon as he heard the water in the bathroom shut off. Brendon paused in the act of slipping under the covers, fixing Ryan with a deliberate stare.

"I've been having nightmares," Ryan said simply. "It helps if I'm not alone."

"Oh," was all Brendon said, but his eyes softened and he raised the covers in invitation. However, Ryan could feel the tension in Brendon's turned back when he climbed in beside him. He fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, Ryan awoke to the feel of a slim calf between his own, and Brendon pressed against his back, morning wood hard against his spine. Ryan couldn't control his own shudder of awareness, and he must have woken Brendon, because he went absolutely still for a moment, then virtually leapt from the bed and into the bathroom. Ryan turned his face into the pillow. The sheets smelled of Brendon. He heard the shower start in the bathroom, and his mind wandered. Water pelting against Brendon's hot skin, sluicing over his shoulders. Brendon's hand slicking over his wet stomach, closing around his erection.

Ryan's own hand slipped under his pajama bottoms, closed over his own straining cock. His head tossed against the pillows as he jerked himself roughly once, twice, three times. He came with embarrassing rapidity into his own hand. It was only then, with his own come cooling on his skin, that he realized what he'd done. He curled around himself, burrowed under the covers, and feigned sleep when Brendon reemerged from the bathroom to dress.

Two hours later, Spencer appeared in Brendon's bedroom doorway.

"Ryan?" Upon finding Ryan still curled in Brendon's bed, Spencer raised an eyebrow at him but didn't make a comment. Ryan knew he was only biding his time, though. What Spencer did say was, "Geez, Ryan, haven't you even showered since you left your place?"

Ryan flipped him off.

Spencer ignored this and yanked the covers down. "Up. Shower. Now. Then we're going back to your place."

"I don't want to..." Ryan started.

"You don't have to stay. I'll drive you there. You can come stay with me...my mom would love it."

"I think," Ryan paused. "Okay, we can go pick up some of my stuff, but I just want to come back here." He didn't know if he could handle Spencer's mother and sisters hovering right now.

Spencer shot him a look, like, _I'm sure you do_ , but refrained from commenting, just shoved Ryan into the bathroom and shut the door.

***

Ryan’s place was dark and quiet when he pushed open the door. She wasn’t home. She hadn’t moved out yet, but she was gone. For now. Ryan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Spencer clapped him on the shoulder and sort of gently shoved him over the threshold.

“Let’s not take all day about this, hmm?” Ryan shot him a look and Spencer held up his hands.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Ryan said, pointing a finger at Spence. “For a best friend? It took you three days to come get me. _Three days_.” Ryan turned his back before Spencer could respond.

“I knew you were in good hands,” Spence said after a moment, then added, softly, “Brendon called.” Ryan’s head popped out from his bedroom.

“Rea—“ his voice cracked with a squeak. Ryan cleared his throat and tried again, “He did?”

Spencer considered him silently for a minute, cocking his hips and tipping up his chin.

“He did. Brendon told me all about it. Then I came over here to see for myself.” Ryan tripped over his duffle.

“You did _what?_ ”

“You heard me.”

“I—was she here? What did she say?” Ryan’s legs seemed to give out, and he sat down on his duffle, wincing when something shifted and cracked. Spencer sat on the floor in front of him and crossed his legs. He smoothed the fabric of his jeans then picked absently at a thread. “What did she say, Spence?” Spencer continued his ministrations without looking up. Ryan leaned in. “What did _you_ say?”

“I told her she was doing you a favor. I told her the best thing she could have done was to get out of your life so you could figure out what you wanted for yourself.”

“But—but Spence, _I loved her_ ,” Ryan said mournfully, twisting his fingers together.

“Yes, you did.” Spencer clasped Ryan’s joined hands. “But do you now?” Ryan’s head shot up, and the look in his eyes was more fear and anxiety than anger or sadness. Spencer continued. “I know you weren’t happy here…” Ryan drooped. “I’m your best friend, how could I not? You didn’t have to tell me for me to see it. I could see a lot of things you weren’t telling me.”

Ryan pulled his hands away and slowly lifted his head to look Spencer in the eye.

“What are you saying?”

“I’ve seen. How you look at Brendon.”

Ryan whirled away and fell off the back side of his duffle. He scrambled to his feet and hurled himself into the bedroom. Spencer sighed and stood. At least Ryan hadn’t slammed the door in his face.

Ryan lay curled in a little ball on the bed when Spencer got to him. He could feel Spence’s eyes on him, and he tucked his nose further into his chest. Spence sat on the bed behind him and started to rub his back soothingly. Ryan tensed then started to uncurl by degrees. Soon he lay tucked up against Spencer, with his head on his chest and trying not to sniffle.

“Would it be so bad?” Spencer asked, breaking the silence. Ryan didn’t even twitch. “I mean, I turned out ok, right?” Ryan snorted softly. Spencer poked him in the side. “Don’t wipe your nose on my shirt. And you’ve always been awfully touchy-feely anyway, for a straight guy. Look at you now; Jon should be jealous.”

Ryan pushed away and rolled over, throwing an arm over his eyes. Spencer just laughed.

“Jon knows better,” Ryan noted dryly. Spencer rolled onto his side and looked at Ryan fixedly.

“Jon knows better,” he echoed. “Jon knows. What about Brendon?" Ryan groaned. Spencer propped himself up on an elbow. “Ry, does Brendon—“

“ _Brendon doesn’t want me_ ,” Ryan moaned into his sleeve. Spencer flopped onto his back. “He—he said…”

“What did he say? Exactly?”

“He said he wouldn’t be my rebound. That I didn’t know what I wanted.” Spencer sat up.

“What did you _do?_ ”

“I just—I just. Touched him,” Ryan reached out into nothingness, as if a ghostly Brendon was before him. Spencer thumped his head.

“And that’s all he said?”

“He said that I had to decide. And that I had to convince him.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Spencer shoved at Ryan, hard, and he flailed to keep from falling off the bed. Ryan clutched the bedcovers and gaped at Spencer. “He just—gah! You are a _moron!_ ” Ryan just shook his head. “How did you ever get girls to sleep with you, being this stupid? Ok, ok, I’ll give you the first part: he doesn’t want to be a rebound. Fine. But the rest? He just wants to wait until you’re _sure!_ Idiot.” Spencer shoved him again for good measure.

“Wait— _what?_ ” Spencer sighed. This was going to take a while.

“Brendon wants you, asshat. Just not now when you’re all fucked in the head. Not _now_. _Later_ , when you’re ready.”

“What?” Ryan looked pale and jittery.

“Are you deaf now, too?” Ryan scowled at Spencer. “Take it easy, and convince him. He told you what you have to do.”

“But I don’t know what to do!” Ryan practically wailed, making Spencer flinch. “Nothing I’ve tried is working!”

“Obviously,” Spencer commented. Then he added under his breath, "You so need to get laid." When Ryan sputtered, Spencer added, "Look at me, am I tense?"

"You're an asshole," Ryan muttered.

"You love me anyway. Now, are you coming home with me or not?"

Ryan shook his head. "Brendon's. I just...it's not like I'll even see you, Mr. I'm-Sooo-Relaxed. How many hours have you spent in your own house the past few days?"

Spencer had the nerve to smirk. "You're such a bitch," he told Ryan.

"You love me anyway."

***

Spencer took him back to Brendon's. Brendon was home when they got there, and he and Spencer shared a long look as Ryan unloaded his bags. A very long look. It was apparent even to Ryan that the Look had contained an entire conversation, one Ryan wasn't privy to. However, all they said was, "He stays much longer, he's going to have to chip in for rent." Brendon.

"That's only fair." Spencer, evenly.

"Is anyone talking to me?" Ryan demanded, rather petulantly.

Brendon turned to him immediately. "Want to watch a movie?" His tone was utterly casual.

"Sure," Ryan hurried to answer. "Spence, you want to stay?"

"If I can call Jon first," Spencer answered.

It ended up being all four of them. Jon came over, and after bickering for a few minutes, Spencer and Brendon managed to mutually agree on Brendon's The Usual Suspects DVD. Though if Jon or Spencer paid any attention to the movie after curling up together at one end of Brendon's couch, Ryan would have eaten the DVD case. Brendon was squeezed into the leftover couch space, and Ryan leaned against the arm of the couch from his seat on the floor.

Ryan fidgeted incessantly through the first half hour of the movie. After his shoulder knocked against Brendon's knee for the fifth or sixth time, Brendon reached out, fingers curling around the back of Ryan's neck, beneath the collar of Ryan's t-shirt. Ryan relaxed under the steady press of Brendon's fingers, and sat still for the rest of the movie.

***

They made it through a whole week of co-habitating, with Ryan scrupulously sticking to the couch at night. A week of skirting around one another carefully, moving in slow motion (or so it felt to Ryan) through every moment of deliberate or accidental contact.

Then it started to rain. To pour, really. It was over the July 4th holiday, unfortunately, when Brendon was off work anyway, and so Brendon's mid-week vacation turned into Ryan and Brendon, stuck inside a small apartment.

The fireworks got rained out, too. Ryan thought bitterly that it was a really fucking great metaphor for his life, actually. So great that Ryan had started painting it, all cadmium flashes and prussian blue thunderheads, like a Van Gogh nightmare. Except that Brendon was making it really fucking hard to concentrate.

Ryan slapped a paintbrush down on the table with a vehemence it didn't deserve and stalked over to where Brendon was leaning against the arm of the couch. "Give me that remote," Ryan demanded, hand outstretched.

Brendon just leaned back, studying him. "Why?"

"Because if you play the Rocky Horror video one more time today, I will kill you with my bare hands," Ryan replied acidly. He gave up, grabbed for the remote. Brendon resisted.

It degenerated immediately into all-out wrestling. Brendon weighed more, but Ryan had the benefit of growing up with Spencer. Spencer fought dirty, and Ryan had picked up a few tricks. Soon he was sitting on Brendon, holding the contested remote. He tossed it onto the couch, well out of Brendon's reach, and laughed victoriously.

This was when Ryan became aware that he was straddling Brendon. Brendon, who had gone very still. Brendon, who when Ryan whispered his name just looked back at him, dark eyes bottomless, expressionless.

Unable to stop himself, Ryan breathed out slowly, rolling his hips experimentally. Oh. _Oh_. He did it again. Brendon's tongue darted out to touch his bottom lip, but that was all the warning Ryan got before Ryan felt Brendon's legs twisting around his, flipping him onto his back. Brendon's hips and mouth came down hard onto Ryan's at the same exact moment, and Ryan let out a startled groan.

Brendon tasted like cherries, like every sin Ryan had ever considered. Ryan's hands scrabbled for the hem of Brendon's shirt, searching for skin, and Brendon pulled it roughly over his head, tossing it aside before licking a stripe up Ryan's long neck. Ryan ran feather-light hands over the planes of Brendon's back, his wiry muscles, and Brendon murmured, "Ryan. Ryan." in a tone of disbelief, hands pushing Ryan's own t-shirt up and off, lips skating over Ryan's collarbones.

Ryan rocked his hips up against him, fingers fumbling for the button of Brendon's jeans. He gasped, "Bren!" against those sinful lips, and the next thing he knew, Brendon stilled, rolling off him and standing, quick as lightning. "What is it?" Ryan choked out.

Brendon just looked at him. Ryan was aware then that he was sprawled on the floor, half naked, in Brendon's living room. Brendon didn't look much better; hair mussed, shirtless, jeans unbuttoned. He looked crazed.

"I can't do this," Brendon breathed.

"What?" Ryan questioned, hating the inanity of his own voice. He swallowed, tried again. "Why not?" He rolled to his feet, stood facing Brendon, fists clenched at his sides.

"Are you ready to come to my bedroom, Ryan?" Brendon's voice was raw. "Have you ever been _fucked_ before, Ryan?"

Ryan couldn't help it; he flinched.

"That's what I thought." Brendon caught Ryan by the belt loops, yanked him closer. "God, Ryan, you have no idea the kinds of things I want to do to you."

Ryan looked up, looked him directly in the eyes at last. Something hot and black was boiling behind his lips, and when he opened his mouth it was like someone else talking. He said, "And you have no idea if I'll let you. So who's more afraid?"

They stared at each other for a moment, then Brendon whirled and stalked into the bedroom. If he'd have slammed the door, Ryan would have felt vindicated. Instead, it shut with a soft click, and Ryan was left with the feeling that he had said the most horrible thing he could have to someone who deserved it least.

***

Ryan haunted Brendon’s apartment. He was silent and barely visible, his presence only confirmed by things he left behind: a tube of paint here, a little brush there. Ryan was miserable, but he was painting like a fiend.

Maybe he would rethink getting rid of his therapist.

Ryan swept the finishing touches on his latest. It was the park across the street from Brendon’s apartment. One tree. One bench. The sky. Mostly the sky. Ryan had taken to snapping pictures of the sky as he saw it from Brendon’s front steps. He had several versions that he liked, and this one, this first one, was a fiery sky. The tree and the bench were practically charred afterthoughts. It was all about the sky, heat, intensity.

The next one was going to be blue.

Ryan smiled to himself as he cleaned up his supplies. He had been conscientious of Brendon’s space and been very careful to wipe up any spills or smudges. Ryan had a tendency to sort of erupt around his paintings. Things could get away from him.

Like the cap to his tube of scarlet. Ryan liked red. He used it a lot. Paint was expensive when one wasn’t working, so he wasn’t going to waste it. But the cap had disappeared.

Ryan spied it under a kitchen chair.

And promptly kicked it. Right under Brendon’s bedroom door.

_Shit._

Ryan put down the tube of scarlet so he didn’t inadvertently squeeze it all over himself. He crept across the room and stood in front of the door, biting his lip and wiping the pads of his fingers on his jeans and stressing like Brendon was behind the door ready to bite his head off. He wasn’t, of course. He wasn’t even home. Ryan just had to open the door, get his cap, and be done with it.

But he had been so good about respecting Brendon’s space. Trying to—something. Make up for his harsh words. He had been cruel, and Brendon had done nothing to merit it. Not really, anyway.

Ryan took a deep breath and opened the door.

It was still just Brendon’s room. No dragons. Ryan took a step inside and looked around. The damnable cap was nowhere to be seen. _How hard had he kicked the stupid thing?_ Ryan stooped. Then he knelt to peer under the bed.

_Aha!_

Under the bed.

Ryan tucked up the drooping bedclothes to reach for his cap. He snagged it, sitting back on his haunches and picking off dust bunnies. His hand brushed the edge of the mattress and it was silky, unexpected. Ryan found himself staring at a silk scarf looped through one of the little handles on the side of the mattress. It was yellow.

That was all Ryan could think.

_Yellow._

Ryan let the delicate material flow over his fingers. He twisted it in his fist, wrapping it around his wrist and tugging experimentally. He let go and the fabric slipped and slid across his skin until it lay flat against the mattress again.

Ryan gripped his cap and looked up to see Brendon standing in the doorway.

“ _Jesus fuck!_ ” Ryan gasped. He shot to his feet, clutching his cap.

“Find what you needed?” Brendon asked softly. Ryan nodded tersely, waved the cap halfheartedly. Brendon’s eyes never wavered. Never acknowledged Ryan’s reason for invading his space yet again. Brendon’s eyes bored into him. Ryan stood his ground.

Brendon didn’t.

Brendon took a step back.

Ryan would never know how his face changed. The minute display of disappointment that flickered over his features. It was enough. Enough to stop Brendon in his tracks. Enough to get him moving forward instead. Brendon only stopped when he was completely inside Ryan's personal space. It had been long enough since Brendon had been so close that Ryan actually felt his skin tingle. But Brendon wasn't touching him, just looking.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Brendon repeated softly.

"I think I did," Ryan breathed. He reached out, trailing his fingers along Brendon's jaw, leaning in to kiss him softly, surely. He didn't stop until he felt Brendon's lips move against his, till Brendon sighed into his mouth. Then he drew back, backing towards the bed and pulling Brendon with him.

Ryan kept his eyes locked with Brendon's as he sank to his knees by the side of the bed. He saw the tremor run through Brendon as he registered the position, and noted Brendon's reaction for later. Reaching out blindly, he grasped the object he was looking for - the trailing end of the yellow scarf. Then he stood, deliberately sliding up Brendon's body, so that he felt as well as heard Brendon's ragged gasp.

"I decided," Ryan whispered against Brendon's lips.

Brendon's fingers wrapped ever-so-delicately around the hand holding the yellow silk. "And this is how you want to convince me?" Brendon returned softly.

"Yes. _Please_ ," was the answer.

Those two quiet words seemed to unlock something in Brendon. He caught Ryan’s mouth in a deep, drugging kiss, until Ryan felt his head spin and dimly, felt Brendon’s hands on the fastenings of his clothing. Brendon didn’t stop until Ryan was naked before him—and then he just stopped and looked.

Ryan felt a dull flush spreading over his skin, and he shivered as Brendon reached out to trace the line of Ryan’s collarbone. “You’re beautiful,” Brendon told him.

“No,” Ryan protested. “I’m not. You are.” He reached for Brendon, fisting his hands in Brendon’s t-shirt and tugging. Brendon laughed, but pulled the offending garment over his head and tossed it aside.

“So impatient,” he murmured in Ryan’s ear. “You’re never going to make it at this rate.” He captured Ryan’s earlobe in his teeth, tugging gently before fastening his mouth over the delicate skin beneath his ear.

“I would if you’d just _touch_ me,” Ryan growled back, head falling back to allow Brendon more access to his neck.

Brendon hummed in response.

“Mmm, I will.” One knee pushed between Ryan’s to brace against the mattress, and his body weight pressed against Ryan until Ryan collapsed on it. Brendon followed, straddling Ryan’s legs and slipping the silk from Ryan’s fingers.

Brendon leaned over to kiss Ryan’s fingertips as he fastened the material securely around his wrist. He leaned across Ryan to secure Ryan’s other wrist with a trailing scarf from the other side of the bed. Ryan arched into the pressure of Brendon’s body with a tiny moan. The restraints held fast, but Brendon met his mouth eagerly.

“Shhh,” he murmured against Ryan’s jaw. “Let me take care of you.” His hands skated feather-light across Ryan’s skin and Ryan wondered fuzzily if it was actually possible to die of overstimulation. He hissed in a breath as Brendon’s nails raked delicately along the skin of his inner thigh. The fingers of one hand traced the sharp jut of Ryan’s hipbone as the other hand closed around the base of Ryan’s cock.

Ryan caught a flash of Brendon’s dark eyes before Brendon’s head lowered and he licked a tentative stripe up the underside of Ryan’s cock. As his lips encircled the head, Ryan moaned.

“Fuck, Brendon.”

Brendon lifted his head long enough to murmur, “That’s for later.” Ryan’s hips bucked involuntarily and Brendon pressed harder against Ryan’s hip.

“Stay still for me, Ry,” he said. His voice carried a note of command that sent tremors through Ryan. He obeyed the best he could, restricting himself to gasps and moans he couldn’t quite suppress as Brendon’s mouth did wicked things, Brendon’s hands roaming over his stomach and thighs.

Ryan’s eyes had slipped closed at the excess of sensation, but they shot open again as Brendon’s mouth and hands lifted simultaneously. Brendon was merely fumbling in his nightstand. He returned a moment later, naked now himself, settling between Ryan’s thighs and popping the cap on a bottle of lube. Ryan licked suddenly dry lips, whispered, “Bren?” and tugged on the scarves binding him.

Brendon stretched to kiss him reassuringly.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered back. “If you tell me to stop, I will.” Ryan just watched with dark eyes as Brendon urged his thighs apart, and he choked back a sound of surprise at the first press of Brendon’s finger. Head thrown back, neck arched, Ryan writhed under Brendon’s hands as Brendon tested him with one finger, then the press of a second. When Brendon crooked his fingers, brushing some sensitive spot inside, Ryan keened and bucked his hips. “Please,” he breathed. He needed – something. “More…”

Brendon let out a breath, ran his free hand along Ryan’s calf, lifting it to his shoulder. “Just…try to relax,” he breathed into his skin, and it sounded almost like he spoke as much to himself as to Ryan.

Brendon moved slow and liquid, his hands slipping warm across Ryan’s skin as he positioned himself. A condom lay on the sheets near Ryan’s hip, neglected. Ryan twisted and writhed, pushing up against Brendon’s body as best he could, searching for contact. He was nowhere near immobile, but he was bound securely, and at such an angle, that his upper body was completely useless.

So Ryan arched, begging with his body the way he couldn’t bring himself to beg Brendon with his words, not any more than he already had. Not yet.

And Brendon petted him. Stroked him. Teased him with clever fingers. Tantalizing and frustrating him all at once. Brendon touched him, finally, _finally_ , yet he wouldn’t—he wasn’t…

“ _Brendon_ ,” slipped out past Ryan’s lips practically of its own accord.

“Okay, okay, shhh,” Brendon murmured soothingly. Then he reached for the condom. Ryan’s heart beat wildly in his chest and he sucked in a noisy breath, letting it out with a shudder. Brendon smiled and slithered up Ryan’s body with the condom held delicately between two fingers, almost tauntingly. Ryan’s eyes flicked from it to Brendon’s face. “Don’t worry,” he said, his breath ghosting over Ryan’s face. “Remember, you tell me to stop, I stop.”

Ryan’s eyes fluttered shut and he nodded, just slightly.

Brendon pushed himself up using both hands and kneeled between Ryan’s legs. The sound of the condom wrapper tearing seemed to echo through the room. Ryan’s eyes flew open, and he watched as Brendon carefully rolled the condom on and slicked himself up. His breath quickened, and Brendon looked up.

“Ready?”

Ryan just licked his lips.

Brendon took a deep breath and took one last moment to drizzle more lube on his fingers. Ryan’s brows furrowed momentarily, but Brendon slipped his fingers inside again quickly. Ryan jerked and Brendon chuckled softly.

“Just making sure,” he said, his fingers slipping out again just as quickly. “No such thing as too much lube.” Brendon waggled his eyebrows and Ryan snorted. Then he just tried to relax as Brendon lined himself up.

Brendon pushed, slowly but steadily. So slowly. Ryan’s body gave way, opened up for him, until Brendon was sheathed to the hilt. He stopped. Ryan lay spread out beneath him on the bed, gasping breathlessly and blinking back tears. Brendon caught his breath.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he whispered. Brendon’s hands glided up Ryan’s body, slipping in a light sheen of sweat. Ryan quivered, and Brendon reveled in the play of muscles under his fingertips, the texture of skin. He focused on the way Ryan’s ribs moved with his breath; the way his hands followed the movement. Involuntary. The way everything with Brendon felt when he was with Ryan. Like he had no control.

Brendon had to be in control.

So he started to move.

Brendon started to move. He pulled out slowly, just a fraction. Ryan whined, low in his throat. Brendon thrust back in, still slow, gentle. Ryan trusted him not to hurt him. Trusted him to make it worth his while. Make it worth the wait. Make it good.

Brendon could. Oh, yes. Brendon could.

Brendon grasped Ryan’s hips and tilted them just slightly on his next thrust. Ryan’s breath hitched. _Harder. Faster._ Brendon followed his cues until Ryan writhed and bucked, thrashed and strained against his bonds. Words dripped from Brendon’s mouth, low and dirty.

“Fuck, Ry, so hot. You should see yourself—“ Brendon shifted, one hand pressed against the mattress, and the other wrapped around Ryan’s cock. Ryan moaned, the sound vibrating through them both. Brendon lowered himself until he lay nearly flush against Ryan’s body and spoke directly in his ear. “You should see it, Ry. You, all stretched out, underneath me. Taking my cock, _begging_ for it.” Brendon punctuated his words with thrusts of his hips and strokes on Ryan’s cock. Ryan shuddered and Brendon hitched himself up on one elbow. “Come on, Ry, I want to see you. Want to see you let go. Want to see you _come_.” Brendon dipped his head and licked the curve of Ryan’s jaw, tasting sweat. Ryan threw his head back and keened, stiffening and coming in hot spurts over Brendon’s hand, his body clenching down on Brendon’s cock.

Brendon gasped at the ferocity of Ryan’s orgasm. He thrust in again viciously just to keep moving, making sure he still could. Ryan’s eyes rolled back into his head, but Brendon dug his thumbs into his hips.

“Oh, no,” Brendon chided breathlessly. “No you don’t. Open your eyes. _Open them._ I want to see you.” Ryan opened his eyes. He opened his eyes to the ceiling, took a shallow, gasping breath, and grasped his lush lower lip between his teeth. Then he met Brendon’s gaze, hot and dark. It hit Brendon in the gut, and he came, hips stuttering, his voice dying in his throat. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto Ryan’s belly, mixing in with the come and sweat already there.

Brendon pulled out gingerly. Ryan winced anyway. Brendon kissed his eyelids and brushed sweaty hair out of his face before turning away and quickly disposing of the condom.

Ryan lay on the bed completely still. Brendon would have thought he was asleep if not for his breathing. Too quick, too shallow. Brendon reached across and untied one set of knots. Ryan raised his head and watched as Brendon freed first one wrist, then crossed and released the other. He sat, taking Ryan’s hands and rubbing them gently. They were cold, but Brendon knew that it was just as likely that it was just how Ryan was and not from being tied too tightly. But Brendon rubbed all the same.

***

It was still dark when Ryan woke. He was in Brendon’s bed. Brendon slept soundly next to him, an arm slung carelessly around his waist. Ryan’s entire body felt sore, used, yet he smiled into the darkness nonetheless.

***

Brendon sat on the edge of the bed smirking at him when Ryan woke again. He handed Ryan half of a bagel and stood, dressed already.

“I have to go to work,” Brendon said. “See you later?”

Ryan sat, sheets slipping to his waist, and nodded.

“Thanks.”

Brendon’s smirk morphed into a leer.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice whiskey and cigarettes. He grinned as he turned on his heel and strode from the room.

“For the _bagel!_ ” Ryan shouted petulantly after him. He could hear Brendon’s laughter even as he closed the door behind himself. _Asshole_.

Ryan chewed thoughtfully and weighed his options.

***

Stacks of paintings covered Brendon’s table. Several more sat propped against the legs, too large and cumbersome. Ryan took inventory.

He was going to sell them. Not _all_ of them, of course. Some he would keep for his final showing at school, but the others, he had no need of them. So he perched on a chair, notebook balanced precariously on his lap, and absently titled his work. It really was the easiest way to keep things organized. Numbers were so impersonal.

Ryan scrawled words on the backs of frames in a black sharpie. He was bent over a short stack when Brendon returned. Ryan glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge Brendon’s presence, but otherwise continued his work.

“You should take a picture of each of them, too,” Brendon said suddenly. He leaned against the door jamb, watching. Ryan just nodded. A few more minutes of silence and Brendon made his way to the table to look more closely. He jabbed a finger at Ryan’s latest, the painting of the park, the bench and the sky; the one that had gotten Ryan into Brendon’s bedroom. Brendon jabbed at it. “Not that one.” Ryan looked up at him questioningly. “That one’s mine.”

Ryan’s mouth twisted into a smirk even as his cheeks flamed.

“Souvenir?”

“Sort of,” Brendon countered saucily.

“Don’t you just want a pair of my panties or something?” Brendon’s eyebrows arched wickedly and he planted both hands carefully in an empty spot on the table and leaned in close.

“ _You wear panties, Ryan Ross?_ ” he whispered, close enough that Ryan could feel his breath on his skin. Ryan licked his lips. “Kinky.”

“Maybe. For you, I might.” Brendon’s eyes flashed darkly and Ryan barely had time to draw a proper breath before his mouth was captured in a bruising kiss.

The doorbell chimed perkily.

They broke apart, panting. Ryan sat down with a thump, fingers to his lips. Brendon grinned at him before turning away to bound across the tiny apartment to the door.

“Jon!”

“Brendon! What’s up, little man?” Ryan could hear the slaps on backs of a hug of greeting.

“You’re one to talk.”

“Hey, there’s nothing little—“ Ryan could see Jon’s gesture toward himself as he stood to join them.

“Is Spencer inflating your ego again?” Jon opened his mouth to reply, but Ryan cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear about Spencer inflating _anything_ , thanks,” Ryan said with a laugh and an affectionate bump of knuckles. Jon smiled and moved toward the couch.

“I came over to talk to you, anyway, Ryan,” said Jon as he flopped down unceremoniously. Brendon wandered off into the kitchen, so Ryan shrugged and sat down on the couch next to Jon.

“How may I be of service?” They both could hear Brendon snort and giggle to himself. Ryan narrowed his eyes and frowned in his general direction.

“Strange that you would say that,” Jon responded. “I actually wanted to know if you would be interested in painting a mural in my shop. I can pay you.”

Ryan’s jaw dropped.

“Wow, Jon, _seriously?_ ” Ryan was breathless. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Brendon leaning oh-so-casually against the door jamb again.

“Well, yeah,” Jon laughed. “You know I spent some time in France, right?” Ryan nodded. “Well, I’d like something of the Riviera. The Cote d’Azur, you know?” He trailed off. Ryan’s eyes had glazed over, and his hands had started moving of their own accord, little flapping motions. “Dude. Don’t get all arty on me. Brendon said—“

“Brendon said what?” Ryan asked suspiciously. Jon glanced at Brendon, who shrugged, barely.

“He just said you might be interested. Since you’re not working and all… And I like your style,” he added quickly. Brendon snorted again and retreated into the kitchen, tossing a soft “smooth, Jon,” over his shoulder. Jon twisted around to shout after him. “Hey! This was your idea!”

Ryan sat beside him quietly. Processing.

“All his shit’s in here, Jon, if you want to look,” Brendon yelled. Jon turned to Ryan for permission. He just stood up and gestured that way. Jon followed.

***

Ryan stayed up the entire night sketching after Jon left. He had a fairly good idea of what Jon wanted, and what he wanted to do. He had to get it out.

Brendon left him alone to work. For that, he was grateful.

In the morning, Brendon stumbled blearily from the bedroom. Ryan looked up from his drawings as he passed, heading directly for the pot of coffee Ryan had been nursing. The sound that emerged, rumbling up from Brendon’s chest, was vaguely orgasmic. Something clenched in Ryan’s gut, and he watched as Brendon poured himself a cup and sipped. His eyes slipped closed blissfully and he sighed.

Ryan forced his eyes back to his drawings.

Brendon made some more sex noises over his coffee.

Ryan sketched quietly. He could feel Brendon’s eyes on him, but he really did have a lot of work to do… And found himself looking up and meeting Brendon’s steady gaze anyway. Brendon grinned from behind his mug and something inside Ryan twisted again. He was so screwed.

Brendon pushed away from the counter and refilled his cup, emptying the pot.

“I’ll make a new pot before I leave for work,” he said, grasping his cup again and taking a large swallow before heading toward his bedroom to get ready. He paused by Ryan’s side, bending slightly to look more closely at the sheet in front of him. “Looks good. Jon is going to freak out.” Then he bent further and pressed a kiss to Ryan’s hair. “You should get some sleep,” he said softly. “You’re not going to be any good to anyone if you keep this up. Go lie down in my bed. Jon’s wall will still be there when you wake up.”

Ryan looked up at Brendon, just as his fingers slipped through Ryan’s hair. Ryan tipped his head to look at Brendon, Brendon’s hand cupping his skull.

“Even now,” Brendon murmured, swiping a thumb across the dark circles under Ryan’s eyes. “Beautiful.”

Ryan blushed and Brendon closed the distance between them to kiss him, hard and hot. Brendon brought his other hand up to join the one tangled in Ryan’s hair, holding him firmly while he thrust his tongue between his lips. Ryan gasped wetly, his hands finding Brendon’s waist and tugging, tugging Brendon into his lap.

“ _I have to go_ ,” Brendon breathed into Ryan’s mouth, grinding down a little with his hips. Ryan’s head fell back, exposing his long neck. He groaned as Brendon nipped his jaw before standing again.

“You started it,” Ryan said, watching Brendon disappear into the bedroom through slitted eyes. Brendon turned, giving Ryan an appraising look.

“And I’ll finish it. Later.”

Ryan shuddered.

***

Ryan woke feeling like he had slept for days, but a glance at the clock told him it was barely noon. He stretched and burrowed into the pillows for another minute. They smelled of Brendon, and he smiled, luxuriating in the feeling of being surrounded by Brendon. It made him shiver and the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up.

_Brendon._

Ryan felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. He could breathe properly; he was relaxed. It was Brendon. He knew it was. Ryan had surrendered, and now he was free.

Ryan knew that Brendon worked until later that afternoon. He took the time to work on his sketches. It wasn’t long, just a couple more hours to finish up what he had started. It was only a rough copy anyway. Jon would have to see and approve it all before he started, and there was no point in adding all the detail he would do for the real thing.

He only meant to rest his head for a minute.

***

Ryan woke when the door to the apartment slammed. His neck was stiff, and he groaned when he turned his head to see Brendon walking across the room, depositing his stuff as he went. Brendon noticed him watching and grinned.

“I’ve been thinking of you all day,” he said, stepping up and catching Ryan’s face in his hands and planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. When he pulled back, Ryan ducked his head, blushing. Brendon smirked and sauntered over to the refrigerator where he grabbed a water and took a long pull. “Did you finish?” he asked as he turned around.

“Pretty much. I could probably run it over to Jon and see what he thinks.”

“We could, you know, like, call Spencer and make a night of it. Watch a movie or something? Think they would--?” Brendon wondered. Ryan shrugged and gnawed on his thumbnail. Brendon pressed his cold bottle against Ryan’s neck and he shivered. “Or not.” Brendon leaned in close and breathed in Ryan’s ear. “We could just stay here. I could take your mind off Jon’s project, if you wanted. I could –“

“Brendon,” Ryan cut him off. “I have to get this finished. Really I do. Let me call Jon, then we can see what he wants to do, ok?” Ryan scrambled to his feet and Brendon backed off, hands in the air.

“Alright, alright. Do what you need to do.” Brendon raked a hand through his hair, just a little frustrated. “My boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen. _Dedicated_ ,” he mumbled to himself. Brendon froze when he saw Ryan standing with the phone in his hands, unmoving. “Oh shit. Ryan, I—“

“No, it’s ok,” Ryan said softly. He looked at the floor, twisting the phone in his hands. “I like it.” His eyes flicked up to meet Brendon’s briefly before he focused pointedly on dialing the phone. Brendon grinned and slapped Ryan’s ass sharply as he passed into his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt to change.

“Awesome.”

Ryan agreed.


End file.
